


Lilac Skies

by giwp



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Color Guard, Fluff, Gift Exchange, Jean works for his dad, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, M/M, Marching Band, Marco's a teacher, amoxli, hotline bling reference, so little angst i don't know who i am anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giwp/pseuds/giwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Even as they live their lives seemingly so different and content, a chance meeting between the two changes everything.</b> </p><p>A [sorta] continuation of See You Again for my JM Secret Santa <a href="http://amoxli.tumblr.com/">Amoxli</a></p><p>  <i>Request: Reincarnation AU, mid-to-late twenties</i><br/>Jean and Marco are in their mid-to-late 20s, having graduated college and both working full time jobs. While they haven't met yet in life, they have mutual friends and will meet soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amoxli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoxli/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to [Amoxli](http://amoxli.tumblr.com/). Hope you like it

The heavy thumping and grinding noises of the paper shredder was beginning to grate on his already spiked nerves. The crunch and scrapes of metal against metal against thick paper against more damn metal was a noise Jean could say he was used to but had still managed to hate after so many years.

Since the day that he was brought in as an “intern” to his father’s firm the second he’d graduated high school and had moved out to the town of Stohess to attend university, Jean had been loathing the damn industrial-sized menace of a machine. It was the ultimate bane to his existence as day after day in that tiny, pent up supply closet he was forced to deal with and mentally curse at the shredder.

Months of kicking the piece of plastic in anger and then having to unplug and replug the thing because of a paper jam had made Jean a bitter boy and as his ranks went higher and he was no longer the “suck-up intern” but now, more-or-less, the “suck-up law school kid”, the anger hadn’t managed to dissipate any bit.

The ordeals had begun long ago and faraway from his current situation and although his dad kept him within the business as a more vital part of the thriving organization and he was no longer doing coffee runs or spending 90% of his time in the supply closet trying to make copies and shred important documents, there were days that Jean was still forced to come face-to-face with the death machine. The machine to ruin all dreams of a productive workday. He could’ve very well had sent one of the PA’s or interns out to shred the documents from his last pre-law case study, but Jean was on a mission today.

The grinding noises came to a halt, metal gears screeching in that familiar way that, instead of causing a grimace on the boy’s face, brought up a snarl-like smirk onto Jean’s face. He probably looked mental, his lips tightening uncontrollably across his teeth as he takes a few steps away from the machine. He takes a breath – holding it in before releasing it in an even tempo.

Trumpet lessons did wonders to a childhood of shitty asthmatic breathing.

He closes his eyes as he releases his breath. He calms the fire running in his veins and pumping to his heart. He needs to look as calm as possible if he doesn’t want to get into the most amount of trouble he’s gotten into since that fight he’d been in with fucking Jaeger back in high school.

His eyes open, golden browns glinting in the florescent lighting of a closet in the biggest law firm in the state as he takes in the last breath.

He lets the long-drawn breathe out as his entire body leans forward, feet catching traction in the cheap airport-worthy carpeting below him. It’s a running start and although he’s only allowed the seven feet of space, Jean uses all of it to his advantage. A foot or so away from the screeching shredder, Jean lifts his designer-shoe clad foot up and sends it forward – waiting the for the pain of impact to register along with the sound of plastic crashing together.

It takes a second, though, for the pain to come to his senses – a for him to find his nerves again, but the sweet, sweet sound of the shredder collapsing into itself as the sounds of creaking gears stops brings tears of joy to Jean’s eyes.

Well he isn’t physically crying but every ounce of Jean now collapsed onto the sticky-looking floor is mentally lost into hysteria as Jean revels in the silence.

He’s heaving into the air above his head where he’s somehow found himself laying down but he smile just the same with each heavy breath rushing through him. The fire still burns through him and he can feel his heart racing with what he’s just done but all he can do is chuckle breathlessly.

“And fuck you too, ya shittyyy piece of shiiit.”

His words are fumbled and he knows he can think of a better insult than that but at the moment Jean couldn’t give less of a shit. Instead he stays on the ground – laying there – waiting for the sure to come mob of people to come see what the noise had been about.

Jean’s already been treated like the sideshow freak of the office in Stohess. It was years of people obnoxiously sucking up to him for being the boss’s son until one day it had all cracked around him and the joke of the office was the fact that Jean was blood-relatives with the head guy that lived miles away. Months left on his long-term internship (let’s face it, it was a part time job) were spent chasing wild orders for coffee at Starbucks, Pete’s and Temple and running errands for people’s laundry because “it would cut into precious work hours”.

Most of it had all come to an end once Jean had graduated from pre-law and had begun the tremendous ordeal which was law school. His father had decided in the middle of his first year as a full time student that “internships” away from home just weren’t enough for the guy and soon Jean had found himself seated at an actual desk. With actual wood paneling and pencil cups and everything. A desk located right smack dab back in Trost.

The taunting and jibes made in his direction had come to a complete halt in the offices of Stohess when news got out that Jean would be “promoted back in the main offices in Trost but that didn’t mean Jean came back to the most welcoming of greetings. As Jean found himself trying to get accustomed to the life back at Trost, back home, he found the looks rather daunting. The dirtiest of looks when people thought him nor his dad were looking. And, yeah, his dad never did seem to catch onto what was happening in his own firm offices, but Jean knew better than to let his guard down.

This wouldn’t be any different.

People were going to talk about “the great supply room meltdown of 2015” Jean was sure of it and he honestly couldn’t wait to hear the way his story would be told. He’d become the office legend.

“The son of the greatest lawyer has a hissy fit over a paper shredder in the middle of the day” would probably be the tweet of the week in their stupid little city. Not like he cared what went around Trost.

There had been a reason why he’d moved away from Trost.

The overbearing parents and the responsibility of the firm hovering over Jean’s shoulders since he was just a little kid hadn’t been as attractive as his parents let on.

Staring up at the ceiling, Jean could trace the fractured lines of pressure through the tiling. The storage was the room that never got the most attention when it came to remodeling updates and over the years since Jean was a little kid visiting his dad at work, it’d become customary for Jean to linger around that room.

At some point in his young life, Jean would spend his hours with his dad in the closet counting and recounting the tiles above his head. His eyes tracing the patterns and dots – mapping constellations and images as if they were clouds on an otherwise clear day.

Now all Jean could see was how heavy the tiles seemed to be; how much weight they carried to create fractures so deep and running so long across the room. Most of them looked so old and rusted along its edges they’d fall apart with the right amount of push.

Laying so close to the ground, Jean could feel and hear the vibrations of heels making their way towards the closet now.

The off-tempo steps that seemed far too heavy to be that of one of the pretty ladies his dad always hired could only mean it was one person.

The door slammed open, the knob hitting the other side of the wall with enough force to create a hole if the doorstop hadn’t been installed last year. Jean barely glanced over before he saw the dark brown hair that had him staring back up at the ceiling and rolling his eyes. “Of course you’d be the first to find me here,” he muttered to himself.

A heavy-throated chuckle rings arounds the room over Jean’s head. “It’s like a sixth sense, Jeanbo. You can’t hide your stupidity from me.”

Jean sighs and using his hands, he pushes himself up to lean back on them. He shifts on his butt to angle his body to look at the person standing in the open doorway whose disgusting grin pulls on his worn nerves. “Or maybe it’s just that you’re a walking disaster and birds of a feather can’t keep to themselves, Jaeger?”

Eren smirks down at Jean – his arms crossed in front of his body in contempt. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes but I’m happy to hear the disaster itself call itself out on what it is.”

“Thanks that’s real touching coming from you. The tears are already pooling from the sentiment.”

The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds; neither of them moving or changing the way their lips tilt into smirks heavy with resentment but full of familiarity.

Jean could feel the years of pure hatred that had ebbed into their current love/hate relationship lightening the weight on the fractured thoughts in his head. When it came to Eren and his impulsive, idiotic behavior, it was like nothing else existed outside of making sure that Jean got the last word and insult in any given situation.

Jean could escape into something else and Eren, once they’d gotten closer after their second year of high school, had been willing to be there when Jean came frantically running away from whatever demons that lingered over his head.

And he never really brought it up once everything had passed.

Eren had the knack to let his guards down when Jean needed it and once the feelings had drained him of everything body and mind it was like Eren could wipe his own head from what had happened. He never brought it up and every time Jean attempted to apologize for it he’d brush it off as though it wasn’t anything to take note of and apologize for.

Jean couldn’t say he _loved_ him for it but there was a strong appreciation for everything Eren had become for him since the summer when their friendship had started to etch into a visible path.

They both had Armin to thank as the blond had proven over the years since grade school that whatever rivalry they’d thought they had never existed and all of it could be redirected into a pretty decent arrangement.

That arrangement being Eren’s tendency to show up at the right moment every time Jean needed a kick in the ass.

Jean let his gaze drop and as he stared down at the crease of his slacks he heard the hinges of the door give way and close. He can hear Eren breathing heavily, something Jean had always teased him about even though it couldn’t be helped and Eren had “a breathing problem so fuck you” and he feels at peace when Eren steps forward to plop down in front of Jean.

“Did you wanna talk about it?”

Jean doesn’t look when he shakes his head. There wasn’t much to talk about. It was everything Eren already knew about how he felt being back home and having to come to the office every workday. Eren’s already heard all the gripes and groans that could last someone a lifetime and Jean could spare the guy’s time even as all those thought run through his head now.

He brings a hand up and rubs it against the side of his face before dragging it to scratch at the nape of his neck. “Nah. It’s just all the same shit.”

Eren watches him – he can see it in the corner of his vision, but Jean keeps his eyes either on the laces of his shoes or on the stacks of printer paper in the corner of the room collecting dust across from where he’s sitting. “Well that’s goods then,” Eren responds a while later. He sits back to mirror Jean’s position and lets out a deep sigh, relaxing into the floor. “I was worried I’d have to sit here for another hour listening to you bitch about your cushy life.”

Jean looks up and sees Eren smirking up at him. He smiles back and Jean feels himself do the same – relaxing and taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t explain how Eren always did that to him but he’d blame it all on some psychological mumbo-jumbo that Eren had probably learned while he was at Trost U.

They’d gone to separate schools mostly because Jean had wanted to leave the city and Eren had found himself tied to his family but the near-constant connections they maintained had made coming back to Trost and working alongside his friend had been a relief and less of an emotional letdown.

Eren had come into the office as an intern in HR and with his connections with Jean it hadn’t been a hard choice to have him come on full time as an assistant once he’d graduated. Eren had a far better grasp on what the hell going on in the office and that had always meant that Jean had the perfect person right next to him to help him navigate the hell they called the “break room”. Which happened to be where he was avoiding when he’d made the excuse of making copies and found himself kicking at the machine in the closet.

“Very funny, Jaeger. So. Am I missing anything out there in nowhere land? Or have they finally realized that the boss’s son isn’t interested in their million calorie banana nut muffins?”

Eren snorts. “Sick Maggie and the Ferocious Beast reference. I’ll have to remember that the next time I attend a three year old’s birthday soiree. But no. Reiner’s out there trying to win them over with whatever he thinks can attract those girls and their pastries. And I mean he’s failing miserably but I think they’re slowing forgetting that you’re someone semi-relevant and I think most of them have turned to calling you the office loser like the rest of us.”

“Well that’s good news. Wouldn’t want to keep lying to total strangers about who I am as a person.”

Eren groans loudly and slides back on his hands to lay on his back. Jean mirrors him lays down so their legs threaten to overlap if they were to straighten them out in front of them. “Your shitty personality’s bringing my mood down over hear, Kirschstein. Ya think you can lay off the self-deprecation until we’re at least closer to closing hours?”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

They lay there together for a while. Jean intakes the silence with the warmth knowing that Eren’s down there with him. Eren shifts and soon the two of them find their legs wound around the other’s and if either of them cared about being seen in such a position they’d have been embarrassed at how much comfort they felt feeling the other’s presence.

Jean never could understand the shit that Eren was going through especially when it came to matters at home. Eren was quiet when it came to that and even though Jean always felt a sense of guilt and annoyance to not be able to help Eren in that aspect, Eren had brushed it off as something far less important. He had trouble taking that response as well but the years had built up around them and asking Eren if everything was going well always brought the same answers.

The silence never overwhelmed them and when Eren spoke up it wasn’t as jarring or abrupt as others might have seen it.

“I saw Connie the other day,” Eren says.

“Hm?” Jean replies. He hadn’t heard from the bald guy since Jean they’d graduated high school and Jean had gotten on the train down to Stohess.

“He said something about hanging out this weekend. Apparently he and his friend graduated from Trost and he wanted to celebrate with everyone that was back from school. He told me to let you know about it.”

Jean glances over his shoulder from where he’s sitting and sees Eren playing with the pads of his fingers in the air in front of him. “Isn’t it a bit late for a grad party? Graduations were like a couple months ago. It’s practically September already.”

“Yeah that’s what I said but I guess they’d already done the whole grad night thing somewhere else and he wanted to do a more chill get-together with a bunch of people from high school. Something about missing the gang and wanting to see the distance runners like you and Christa.”

Jean pauses. “Does that mean Reiner’s invited too?”

Eren chuckles knowing full well that Reiner coming meant a lot more than a “chill get-together” and the liquor would be coming in buckets. “I asked him in the break room and he said he’s already started shopping.”

Jean smiles. His eyes focus on the ceiling and they trace along the cracks and edges as his mind decides on the implications of a party featuring Reiner and Connie.

“Make sure he has vodka on the list and I’ll be there.”


	2. Chapter 2

His head shoots up in surprise as the bell rings shrilly through the room. Eyes glazed over and staring stupidly at the clock hanging on the wall across from where he’s sitting at his desk, Marco tries to find and decipher his thoughts. All that goes through his head are staff notes and trying to find a way to help Hannah get through measure 34 without bursting into an asthma attack every single run.

He’s been in the process of transposing the potential concert music for the winter into something manageable since he’d stepped onto campus. At 6AM.

Morning jazz band rehearsals were a pain in the butt to get through what with Marco’s tendency to thrive for the extra hour or two of sleep everyday but it was a necessity he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of his students. It wasn’t his idea to hold the morning practices in the first place but once a petition gets started for more classes and the only open class time happened to be every other day in the wee hours of 7AM, Marco had to make due.

It’s not like he could move afternoon rehearsals to make room for more rehearsals thus doubling afternoon rehearsals and having to listen to a group of disgruntled parents yelling about overworking the student.

This wasn’t his idea, he swears.

But it was a good thing that Marco loved every minute of it. Watching the looks of pride and joy on his students’ faces as they managed to get through a difficult phrasing or finally feeling comfortable in the pieces they were playing was something that left Marco giddy with happiness. He loved listening in on the conversations in their tiny band room that were filled with fascination for the world of music and the same love that Marco remembered seeing in himself since when he was their age.

Granted he wasn’t an old man now – barely 24 and out of college – but Marco finally felt like an adult that these kids could look up to for direction and guidance and a _role model_ , even.

And although he hated having to drag his ass out of bed at 5:30 AM every single morning to either prep for morning band or just the regular day, Marco wouldn’t change it for anything.

As the clock strikes 1:30 in the afternoon, Marco can finally take a breath of air as the noises outside of his room grow louder and heavier with familiar voices.

It’s the new school year, potentially the appearance of new meat that hadn’t gotten the messages and emails about summer rehearsals the past week. There were so many uncertainties that were waiting right outside of that door and Marco felt that gentle hum grow louder and fill his veins with warmth at what the season would bring them.

Shutting his notebook with detailed notes and outlines sketched into the margins and in every corner, Marco can finally look forward towards the more immediate future. Concert season was still a bit away and even though Marco wanted to get a head start over the summer by checking through his new group of students with music and drill rehearsals to help him plan the material for later on, right now, as the doors began to open and a flood of students started to make their way to grab their chairs and take a seat, Marco could see the wall between that day.

Marching season was upon them.

Although marching band wasn’t a major affair for middle schools, the feeder school that these students would be attending in the next few years had been known for their high rankings in competition. Trost Middle School had over the years become the stepping stone to the production value that Trost High School dished out every year and as Marco was introduced and welcomed into the staff on campus he’d learned just how important the program had been prior his arrival.

This meant rehearsals to teach children just out of elementary school how to march and mark time and play at the same time that they lifted their feet. It meant had meant finding and working with a colorguard instructor which thankfully hadn’t been a huge ordeal coming from a university marching band that had an existing program with skilled members.

He’d had an idea about what the dynamics of a colorguard were but once the proposal to have his own school group had been presented to Marco, he’d jumped onto the ship and enlisted his friend, Sasha, to do the honors.

Although Sasha’s appearance as his color guard caption head wasn’t needed during school hours unless it was the week of a performance, Marco felt better knowing that the group of girls that shifted towards the back of the room where the equipment was kept had someone that knew what they were doing. Marco wouldn’t be able to teach them jackshit if he was being completely honest. The most that he’d learned through his years of being surrounded by the color guard were simple drop spins that could probably be done better by some kid at the Y.

Hopefully they’ll be able to handle the loud and always-hungry woman once she showed up for their first rehearsal tonight. He prays that those days that Sasha said could happen where she wouldn’t be able to make rehearsals doesn’t ever come.

Even with the foot or two he has over most of the students, Marco’s known from his own days as a student that there can be some vicious middle school girls right in their own band and it was best not to linger to close or get into a territory that he didn’t know anything about. It was for their best that they had a proper instructor and Sasha definitely fit the bill with her own experience teaching at other school and as captain of the university band’s color guard. It was also the best option for Marco’s heart and stability that he didn’t get too caught up in that world and focused on teaching everyone as a whole.

Marco steps out of the small office space the band room allows him. It’d been a recording booth at some point in the history of the school that been converted to house the director that’ve trudged through the system. Now it was all Marco’s and he took great pride into the meager decorations he’d managed to put up in the few weeks he’d had to prepare for classes to start.

There’s a pep in his step as he grabs at the pile of stapled syllabi on his desk before exiting the office. Most of the kids have figured out the system to dealing with the band room since the summer rehearsals and have already found their chairs. There are a few unfamiliar faces and Marco makes sure to smile at them and everyone else who notices him walking as he gets to the front of the small band room.

The space is tight in there and with a 40 person group it’s hitting the maximum capacity limit. But for Marco it’s enough to knock out a full parade routine without much trouble and enough instruments to pass around the music to. He can get whatever sound he wants with a little practice and endurance and as the few students smile back at him, Marco can see the makings of a decent season.

“Alright! So welcome to everyone here. I’ve already introduced myself to a lot of you over the summer but I see a couple of new faces out there so I guess I’m just going to have to do it again.”

There’s a couple of awkward giggling across the room and Marco watches a number of girls blush under his stare but even he has to chuckle at the resentful looks across many of the boys as they try to attentions to the front.

“Well. My name is Mr. Bodt. I have a first name, I promise. But apparently once you become a real teacher they tell you that your students need to call you by your last name. This is my first year teaching at this school and in general. I just graduated from the Trost University this past spring but I’ve been working as a teaching assistant at Sina Middle School and Trost High School for about three years now.”

Marco watches the glazed look envelop a majority of the students and he thinks quickly on his feet as he tries to get their attention back. He slams the heavy stack of papers down onto the director’s music stand placed precariously in front of him. This seems to do wonders as many of them to be shaken awake and one of the boys in the back sways in his chair trying to find his balance before falling out of his chair. Marco chuckles quietly to himself.

“The people that were here over the break know about my expectations for this group and I’m hoping you guys will be the ones to help our late arrivals know that we _are_ here to have fun and learn a skill but also the art of music should be taken seriously. Once middle school is over, you – I’m hoping – will go on to become the face of a prestigious group in high school. It’s important that we start building your skills here and that includes becoming a good person.”

He looks across the room – his gaze lingering on the few that manage to lock eyes with his. There are a couple that seem to sit up at Marco’s tone. He doesn’t want to sound like the most boring band director ever but setting the ground rules for everything had been the top of his “things to do before I get eaten alive” list and he wasn’t about to skip the most important rule.

“The second you step into this room, on any given day, all the bad things that might be clouding your head goes out the door. We keep out language clean and proper and restrain ourselves from yelling across the band room. I want you all to have fun and perform your very best at the various concerts we’ll have for family and friends and that means maintaining proper rehearsal etiquette.” He pauses to gather his thoughts and shuffle through the papers in his hands.

Realizing that he’s actually holding the syllabus with all the information, Marco slides down to the side of the room and starts separating the stacks into piles to hand them off to the ends of the rows. “The syllabus here tells you everything in detail but essentially what I’ll be doing over the next few days is ask for your help to make a couple of posters to hang up around the room with these guidelines. Does that sound like something we could do to start off the semester?”

There are a couple of enthusiastic head nods from a majority of the class with just the few uninterested, “too cool for school”, looks. Marco’s pretty used to it though and he smiles back at the students – his students.

It’s a surreal feeling as Marco lets loose the kids for a while to go over the syllabus on their own as he prepares the art supplies he’d bought the other night for the occasion. The class is a mix of 7th and 8th grade students and it’s easy to see where they class divides in their grades but after the first five minutes have passed and Marco’s laid out the sheets of poster board around the room, he’s noticed many of the older students have integrated themselves with their underclassmen.

They’re practically yelling at each other as they talk about their summers while others hover together in a loose circle and occasionally glance down at the syllabus sheet on their laps, barely talking to each other but recognizing familiar faces. There’s always going to be the discourse on the first day what with nerves and anxiety affecting everybody in some capacity so Marco lets it happen until he’s fully ready to unleash them on the markers and papers.

The day goes by normally once he’s divided and helped the students conquer their posters. He’d separated them into even teams to work on their own objectives and rules posters and by the time the bell rang for the end of class and the shift to the last period of the day, all of the posters were complete and Marco had left them with a promise to hang them up as soon as they’d left.

He’d informed the students that the next class was to be used for instrument auditions for those that weren’t able to attend summer rehearsals and the process of introductions for the colorguard and the eager looks he was met with created a good mood as the students shuffled about.

Pretty soon, Marco found himself alone again in the large room. The chairs had been properly stacked back into the far corner, any music stands that were brought out were now settled next to them with their desks folded up correctly. The room looked as clean as though a group of 40 students hadn’t just crowded the space.

The posters are still scattered about, though, the inks and glues drying in the open space waiting for Marco’s attention, but that would have to wait for tomorrow morning.

Until then, Marco trudged back to his small office, the stack of music sheets and note pages staring up at him. He now had a general idea of where he wanted the new kids to be placed and once he’d done a little convincing, Marco would definitely have a proper group for the pieces he’d planned out for the fall and winter concerts.

Everything felt like it was falling into place. Sasha was to come over in the next few minutes during the last period of the day – Marco’s free time before school let out. She’d said something about wanting to check out the equipment again and make sure they had enough and whether any of the new kids had shown interest in joining her group. Currently Sasha had the attention of six of the 40 students with plenty of poles and silks to spare but she’d still wanted to meet up and see how everything was looking.

Marco was only able to sit his butt down into the swivel chair before he heard the front door of the classroom slam open. He’d told Sasha that the side door that led to the front of the school was totally acceptable for her to use as she had the keys from the district to open them, but he enjoyed listening to the sounds of Sasha thumping her way across the room in probably her favorite pair of combat boots. She was obviously humming some kind of song and her voice echoed through the room as she jiggled the door for the colorguard’s storage closet and walked back towards Marco’s office.

“Heyyy Marco-ooo.” Her voice rings from around the glass window that let Marco see out to the band room. She’s plastered herself to the fairly barren glass, her face sticking and fogging the wall as she squishes her nose against the pane. But Marco’s prepared for this moment and without a second thought, he grabs the backpack he’d brought with him this morning and after rifling through it, laughing at the strange noises Sasha was making, he slapped a double-sided decal of the deathly hallows symbol right over where Sasha’s nose was.

Sasha startles for a second but then starts cackling violently as he looks cross-eyed down at the sticker. “Wow, Marco. Way to be the resident geek on the first day.”

Marco chuckles as Sasha keeps laughing to herself. She drags her finger along the shape of the decal and when she sees the front pocket of Marco’s backpack filled with different ornaments and decorations, she practically launches towards his backpack.

He quickly swipes the bag before she gets to it, though, and lets her sit on the floor of his office, arms crossed and lips pouting up at him.

Marco turns back to his desk and shuffles through the stack of sheets strewn about. _At least I’ve started the process of decorating_ , he thinks to himself.

He rearranges the backpack on his lap and sets it on the newly open space on his desk. Finding the folders he’d needed, Marco set off into sorting through the music by sections. He attempted to make conversation to the pouty girl sitting behind him but the idea of turning around and trying to keep a straight face as “the almighty Sasha with her heavy boots and leather bracelets with her ironic talent for contemporary dance” sat with puppy-dog eyes was too much for him to handle. He’d most either cave in and let Sasha decorate his entire office to her own liking or end up giggling to himself for hours. Most likely the latter.

He was never going to let anyone touch the tiny statuettes of various characters from his favorite movies. Funko Pop figures were too expensive for someone that was prone to try and toss anything in their reach.

“So what’s up, Sasha?”

He hears Sasha let out a deep sigh but can hear the smile in her voice as she sits back – leaning on her hands.

He glances back and the dazed look on her face tells Marco that there’s a scheme to be had and that probably involved a certain best friend of the girl’s.

“I was talking to Connie before I headed over here, ya know?”

Marco nods his head and hums in acknowledgement. It wasn’t much of a surprise or shock that Sasha had lingered on campus to talk to Connie. She’d been friends with the guy since grade school, apparently, and although Marco always felt like the third wheel the two had always been adamant of the fact that it wasn’t anything like that.

They had included Marco in their little group whenever they could and especially those after-game hours when Sasha would drag Connie everywhere they went even though the guy didn’t have a connection whatsoever to the music department other than Sasha.

Marco saw a lot of Connie in the five years at the university and he was glad the other man also considered Marco a fairly good friend because it meant all the drama that happened would always be brought and told to Marco.

“Well,” Sasha continues talking. “He was telling me that you and him graduated and both got real adult-like jobs, it was time to celebrate a little.”

“Isn’t that what this summer vacation was for, Sasha? Is going to freaking Las Vegas for the weekend not enough for your hungry soul?”

“Oh, Vegas was a blast, yes. But we didn’t get to do anything…chill, ya know? Sure we hung out and drank but it didn’t feel like a real celebration. We need to make this about us, bro.”

“Sash,” Marco chuckles. “You haven’t even graduated yet.”

Sasha huffs and Marco knows the pout has made a reappearance. “Yeah but I’m almost done with business. And I agree with Con and I think you two deserve it. You two deserve the world actually but a little party will just have to do until my graduation, I guess.”

Marco swivels his chair around to look at Sasha. She’s turned her face in the other direction but he can see the blush rising to the apples of her cheeks. She raises one of her hands to scratch at her nose and after five years, Marco can tell the signs that she’s either hiding something or planning something Marco might not be up to liking.

“So it’s just going to be a small little party, right?” Marco asks. He smiles when Sasha whips her head around to look up and smile at him.

She nods her head enthusiastically. “Just a small one. Connie was saying he might invite a couple of his friends from high school. Apparently a bunch of them just got back from school too and he wants to catch up with them.”

Marco tilts his head to the side. “Other people?”

Sasha rolls her eyes. “You look like a confused puppy,” she whispers to herself; but Marco hears her perfectly and he feels the blush threatening to heat his face. “Yeah. Just a couple I think. But don’t worry it’ll still be the Marco and Connie show so a bunch of people from school might come as well.”

Marco nods his head, his eyes glazing over as he thinks about what that would entail.

Marco would get to see a lot of people that he’d hoped to never lose connections with. His social media accounts only did so much when planning and preparing for his own school band had been on the forefront of his mind the second he’d gotten back from his post-graduation trip. There were sure to be the handful of close friends from the music department and the others from when Connie had introduced some of his buddies from his department back in their sophomore year. Those guys were always a blast to be around and Marco couldn’t help but smile to nothing but the wall across from him at the idea of watching everyone get plastered and telling bad horror stories about each other.

Sasha’s voice rings in his ears and he bounces back into reality – sitting up straighter in his chair in the process. “So you in or nah, Marco.”

Marco smiles wider as he nods his head. “Yeah! I’m in.” A couple of new people to meet and build connections and networks with couldn’t hurt. Maybe he’ll be able to find someone that could offer advice on time management.

Marco practically flies out of his chair when he turns to glance at the wall clock leveled right high above Sasha’s head.

The hands ticking and getting closer to 3 o’clock on the dot feels comparatively slow against Marco’s racing heartbeat. School’s about to be released which means the worst of the worst is upon Marco’s head – right outside that back door leading into the school parking lot.

Sasha must sense the anxiety dripping out of Marco as she pushes herself up to stand next to Marco in worry. “Marco, bro. You okay?” She reaches an arm out and he takes it into his own hand.

His hands must be cold because he can feel the tremor of a shiver run through Sasha’s arm. Instead of letting go, though, he does the next best thing.

Dropping his voice down a couple octaves, Marco squeezes the hand he’s holding closer to his own body. Sasha gets dragged a bit closer and she leans away just the bit worriedly as Marco leans down towards her face. He hovers there – eyes boring into her own – before he opens his mouth.

The minivans were probably already lining up along the rim of the school and down a block or two in the surrounding neighborhood and Marco was definitely not ready to be thrown into the world of directing traffic but everything had to be taken with a spoon full of sugar.

With a thundering voice that could rival the depths of Thor, himself, Marco whispered heavily into Sasha’s face. “The soccer moms are here.”

Marco watches the look the concern on Sasha’s face morph into confusion and down into a repulsed look as she processes what Marco’s just said. She swats her hands around trying to aim for Marco’s arm or some part of his body but he’s already out of the office before she can get too close. “Marco you dick! I thought someone just died or something!!”

He’s in hysterics as he runs towards one of the supply closets to find what he’s looking for. Sasha tries to chase after him but gives up when he sees the boy is intently smiling but rifling through the cluttered corner of the closet.

“What are you even looking for?”

“Well,” Marco says, grunting from the heavy box he has to move out of his way. “Before after school rehearsals start, I don’t really much to do once school lets out. The first few weeks are always the worst so the office people needed a couple of teachers to help with directing the moms and the minivans around.”

He pops back up with a look of satisfaction on his face and a repulsive, neon orange and yellow safety vest and a small stop sign on what could possibly be just a large Popsicle stick. “Ah! Got it!”

Sasha stares as Marco dons the vest and starts making his way to grab his keys and cell phone from his desk. “You’re kidding, right?”

He turns back around to see Sasha trying to hide her smile. “I know. It’s ridiculous. But it could never hurt to walk out of the band room once in a while, yeah. Besides it’s only supposed to be like 30 minute job.”

Sasha smiles openly at him, her arms crossing in front of her as he looks him up and down. Marco gives a flamboyant twirl for her and that gets her giggling.

“You can chill out in here and play with the flags. I left the parade tune in the CD from last rehearsal so you can do whatever while I’m gone.”

Sasha slides her feet together in first position and raises her right arm in a salute. “Yes, sir!”

Marco laughs. “Thanks, Sash. I owe you one for taking this job in the first place.”

“It’s no sweat. I mean I love the sport so it’s not like I would’ve said no. I probably would’ve gotten more upset if you hadn’t’ve come to me first for the position.”

“You’d kill me. I already know that.”

“Hell yeah I would!”

Marco turns towards the back door, his keys jingling as he loops it around the belt loop of his slacks.

He’s almost out the door when he hears Sasha scramble from her place already inside the colorguard room to yell back at Marco. “And don’t think I’m not telling everybody about your cute little outfit at the party!”

The door closes before he can yell something back in her direction but he lets it go. It can’t be that.

_54 minutes later_

Marco practically stumbles back into the band room. His vest is already half off of his body when he tosses the tiny stop that did a rat’s ask worth of a job into the corner of the band room. He’ll just pick it up later when he actually cares for the thing. Sasha looks up from where she’s standing at the speaker system and thumbing the buttons.

She looks surprised but when she sees the tired look Marco’s giving her, she erupts into a volcano of laughter that gets her falling onto the ground. She’s clutching at her chest and wiping away the fake tears of joy from the corners of her eyes with the practice silks on the flag pole in front of her feet. “Oh my god! Your face is priceless!!”

Marco huffs as he takes a seat on the ground as well, only a couple feet away from Sasha. He laughs a little to himself and more at himself.

I guess this really has turned into something Sasha’s going to be telling everyone at the party.

Marco flops onto his back, his head racing with red brake lights and the sounds of horns that were definitely not musical instruments in any sense of the word.

The promise of friends and alcohol sounds more and more tempting as Sasha’s laughter dies out and she lightly bounces back up on her feet to turn the music back up.

There’s a pep in her step and Marco can’t help but watch the fluidity to Sasha’s movements as she dances and moves the flag in ways that they both know couldn’t be reflected back in their current younger group of students. But the thought of potential and building that potential with someone Marco truly considered his best friend left Marco feeling warm and forgetful of the last hour of his life.

He was moving forward with his life and so far he was loving every second of it. All he could do now was see what there could possibly be left to make the giddiness rise in his chest like nothing ever has before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [mamaarachne](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Jean gets to the party the liquor’s already made a couple of rounds. There aren’t many people loitering the house and a majority of the individuals he does chance a glance at as he makes his way to the kitchen are old classmates from grade school.

There are the couple of faces scattered around that are most likely Connie’s friends from university but overall Jean feels familiarity with the crowd he finds. Their crew of misfits can be found littered around every which corner and as Jean finds the familiar path towards Connie’s kitchen where all of the booze is being stored, he waves his hellos and receives multiple warm hugs from people he hasn’t seen in almost five years.

They were all 23 now and living such different lives from where they’d been right after graduation and Jean feels a sense of being overwhelmed at the thought of having to filter and listen to dozens of the same story of how so many of them have become so different and changed. But he’s spared the hassle and it’s as though they’ve all just clicked back into place like a box set of Legos.

From where Jean paces his steps closer towards the kitchen he can see the way everyone moves around each other. It’s fluid how they slide around someone and etch their way into a conversation with ease and without tripping over each other’s feet. It seems practiced or rehearsed but Jean can also feel the way there’s reservation and tension in everyone’s faces as they try to go back to days long past.

It all feels similar to the teenage wasteland of a life they’d all once lived.

It’s as if none of them had ever left. And although Jean feels like an outsider as he watches strangers that he’s never met interact with familiar faces, he’s not the least bit affected as everyone around him laughs and emits warmth that seem to seep into his body.

He hasn’t had an ounce of alcohol in him yet but Jean can already feel the high that’s coming for inside the house.

As Jean tries to get past clusters of old classmates he overhears the typical news he’d already seen pasted in capitals and bolded on social media.

Many of them had come back from school newly engaged, ready and on the track to starting their own families or their own businesses in their hometown. He overheard the joy dripping thickly from Franz about how he was so excited for the future as he rubbed circles into Hannah’s lower back.

Jean soon found his way into the kitchen, practically stumbling over someone’s rouge foot but brushing it off with no comments. The room is fairly empty; the only faces he sees is of the host himself, Sasha and someone Jean didn’t have a clue about.

The stranger was seated on a stool at the kitchen counter where Sasha’s legs were swinging in front of his face. Connie had sat himself down on the counter opposite them and from what Jean could see the conversation between them was enjoyable.

Connie was clutching onto his chest as he laughed obnoxiously – head tilted back and close to hitting the cabinets behind him. Sasha had a steely grip on the countertop tiles as she giggled to herself. She always had a tendency to snort when she got overexcited and Jean couldn’t help but smile as he watched Sasha’s face scrunch up to contain herself and stop the noises coming out from the back of the throat.

But it did little to stop her involuntary responses and the choked noises only made the atmosphere in the room bubble even more as Connie almost slid off the counter wheezing.

Jean looked over at the stranger in the room. He’d had his eyes scrunched up with the quietest of laughs coming from him. His hands were gripped onto the fabric of his jeans and he was keeping himself from leaning over as Sasha’s laugh kept affecting his own.

Jean’s eyes glazed over as he watched the boy in front of him smile. He watched as every movement of muscle in his face changed the way Jean could see and not see the freckles littered across his face.

There was a certain extent of pudginess to his cheeks and every time he smiled wider it was like he was hiding away the scatterings of spots from the world only to release them once he’d found the will to calm down for a second. But even that would only last the few seconds as he’d start right back up to laughing along with the other two with him.

It felt like a game and peek-a-boo as Jean couldn’t help but stare at the way the freckles seemed to increase over time.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

It wasn’t until he noticed dark brown eyes looking right back at him did Jean snap out of his daze.

The two of them stared at each other. Brown eyes sliding away from Jean’s hazels and tracing along the paths of Jean’s face. Jean does the same if only to avoid looking at the way the strange boy in front of him drags their eyes along Jean’s face.

He feels as though everything about this new interaction is far too intimate to warrant the change in atmosphere around just the two of them as Sasha and Connie continue laughing with no clue as to what’s happening around them. Their cool laughs does little to temper the heat rising to Jean’s face and when his eyes land back on the browns looking back at him, it’s enough for Jean’s jaw to drop with a certain weight of heaviness.

He takes a deep breath and it feels different. Like there’s a certain familiarity and sense of welcomeness to how the stranger smiles up at him across Sasha and Connie’s bodies.

The laughter around them dies down and Connie’s the first to notice Jean’s arrival. “Jean! Dude it’s been forever!” He hops off the counter and slides on the kitchen tiles in a pair of ridiculous socks towards Jean. He nearly slips and crashes into the table but he finds his balance and bounces the few steps left to pull Jean into a massive bear hug.

He pulls back and looks at Jean thoroughly but it’s different from before. Jean catches a glance over Connie’s shoulder and he sees the guy has already turned to look at Sasha who’s animatedly telling Marco something before she hops down as well and turns towards where they’re still standing. “It has been a while, yeah,” he says.

“You look good man,” Connie says loudly. Jean smiles. Connie’s still the same loud ball of a mess. “You don’t look any different.” Connie grabs onto Jean’s jaw and although he flinches at the pressure Jean lets it happen. “Maybe a little bit of chubbiness and I’m pretty sure that’s the sign of a beard but still the same Jeanbo, huh?”

Connie laughs as Jean slaps his hand away from his face. Sasha pushes her way past the bald man and launches herself into Jean. He barely catches her but managed to keep them both upright as Sasha pulls a chokehold on Jean. “Jeaniiieee!! I missed you so much.”

She pulls away and Jean wouldn’t expect any different from Sasha when she feels a disgustingly wet smack of lips on his cheek. He can already smell the alcohol on Sasha’s breath. “Gross, Sash.” He swipes a hand across his cheek and comes back with a slightly moist palm “You’re still the same as well, huh?”

“I’ll just take that as a compliment on my beauty and leave it alone,” she replies smoothly patting his offended cheek in the process. Jean smiles.

He smiles at both of his friends.

They’d talked over the past five years that Jean was in Stohess for school but most of the daily group chats had died down over time and by the time Jean had found himself closer to graduation, the more he realized how much the relationships had changed with people he called his best friends.

Connie and Sasha pretty much looked the same since when they were all 18 but there was an aura about them all that said “I’m older now. I finally learned how to carry my own weight without hunching forward and tripping over myself. It’s happier now.”

Jean’s taken from his thoughts and reminiscence when Sasha swiftly turns around and grabs hold of freckle-spattered arms to drag them closer to where they’re standing. The guy follows along and laughs as he lets himself get pulled along.

Sasha pulls him forward in front of her and throws an arm out in front of him like she’s about to start a presentation. “Jean I want you meet Marco. We met him at Trost and he’s the one this party’s half for. And he helped me get the teaching job at the middle school so the dude’s pretty legit and you better be nice.”

Marco laughs at Sasha’s remarks as Jean blanches. He’s about to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean on his character but she’s already turned towards this Marco guy. “And that’s Jean. He’s got a wicked personality on him but rumor has it that a majority of his hatred for our friend Eren is because the guy had a secret massive crush on him but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I did not have a crush on, Jaeger!” Jean yells back shrilly. They catch the attention of a couple of people in the hallway but they turn back around to their own conversations without much question.

“Says nobody in this house,” Connie smarmily says.

Sasha turns back to Marco and even though she drops her voice into a course whisper and raises on her tiptoes to talk right into Marco’s ear, Jean can hear her pretty clearly. “If you wanna give it a shot, though, I totally support the cause.”

Jean watches Marco’s face flood into deep pink. The coloring getting darker around the tips of his ears and column of his neck before spreading across the rest of his face. He’s not looking anywhere but at Sasha’s stupid grin and Jean can’t help blushing at how troubled and kinda adorable he looks. 

“Sasha noo,” Marco mumbles to Sasha. He doesn’t get a reply but they exchange a look that has his eyebrows furrowing in a frown.

Sasha turns to the rest of the room and smiles widely. “Well I think Con and I should get back out there and entertain the guests. Marco was saying something about feeling upset but I’m sure Jean here would be happy to keep you company. See ya later, losers.”

She grabs onto Connie’s arm and before he can refuse she’s already dragged him through the archway towards the front of the house.

Jean watches them go and when he turns back around he finds those deep brown eyes looking down at him. Marco hasn’t inched a step closer to him but Jean feels like he’s being clouded over with the taller man’s presence.

But it’s not enough to make him want to book it out of the kitchen at full speed. Rather, he feels the urge in him to step closer to Marco; to somehow find a way in and around Marco and figure out why the hell his own chest was hammering at such a high speed.

His heart’s racing and he can feel his palms sweating.

Just looking up at Marco’s face, Jean feels like the freckles on that face – both hidden and present – are far too familiar to call this a first meeting. His mind plays its own games as he realizes he knows exactly how the freckles that loiter the other boy’s neck goes even further down his figure to pool heavily at his hips. The dark browns on tanned skin creating their own little constellations that Jean could map out onto a sheet of paper without having even said a word to the boy before.

Jean blushes as his thoughts go beyond his grasp and all he can see are the etchings of darkness and heat around his vision. His head grows hot as Marco remains focused in his vision but he creates an entirely different surrounding to where they’re standing currently in a rusty, old kitchen. The stringed up pots and pans replaced with the wood panelings of a shed in the middle of a forest. The kitchen table pushed into the corner of the small breakfast nook littered with alcohol bottles replaced with the distant image of a lake lit by the moonlight as the smells of spring surround them.

“So. Jean, was it?” Marco’s voice sounds like smooth rum. It heats Jean’s body from within and he doesn’t think he could blush any deeper when he catches Marco’s eyes again.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips; tongue rolling in his mouth for a second before he answers. “You’re Marco, right?”

It feels so familiar. The name. The act of asking as if he hadn’t just heard his friends saying it multiple time.

It all felt like déjà vu; like he’d already gone through the motions of introductions and this was all for naught.

But Marco smiled down at him and Jean shook his head of the strangeness of it. Marco didn’t seem shaken up about their meeting.

Figuring it was all in his head, Jean allowed the conversations between the flow along with the atmosphere in the rest of the house. They both grabbed drinks from the dining table and after Marco slid a second stool from around the countertop, they faced each other and sipped at their drinks for what seemed like hours.

Jean couldn’t tell you what they talked about if asked the next day but he could very well try to explain the way everything felt like he was floating through a bubble. It felt serene and safe but the fear of it popping and Jean falling on his ass miles above the ground lingered at the back of his head.

It felt temporary for whatever reason as though at any second Marco could be taken from him and it would make him far more upset than was warranted of an acquaintance of two hours.

Though as time passed, Jean felt relief that Marco didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

The entire night Jean feels like he has so much to tell Marco. Everything about his work to his home. He wants Marco to know everything about anything that he’d missed in the years he wasn’t with Jean.

It’s an exotic feeling – wanting to tell a near stranger so much. But Jean lets it fester in him and listens to the words coming from Marco.

He learns so much about the boy in front of him and with each word he knows he’s falling deeper into whatever feeling was flittering in his chest.

Jean had never believed in love at first sight and he wouldn’t call this just that. It seems like something that’s been happening over time. Like it’s been a long time coming to reach this point where everything feels more complete sitting with Marco and listening to the excitement and reverence in his voice.

They drink as they talk and after the first three hours of the night Jean can feel the effects of the liquor on his body. He watches himself subconsciously grow closer to the freckles on Marco’s face – his eyes fluttering as he tries to trace a familiar landscape.

Marco takes it with stride and although the blush of red from his own drinks grows darker as Jean gets closer, he doesn’t push him away.

They grow closer over the night settled into their stools, drinks in hand.

The people in the house filter around where they’re sitting. Grabbing their own drinks and mixing them to their taste, they barely offer the nod of their head before leaving the two of them back to their muted conversations.

Jean memorizes the way Marco laughs and he can tell the other man is doing the same with how his gaze lingers steadily on his lips.

He knows how obvious he’s been with his flirting even without the winks sent over Marco’s shoulder by Reiner and Connie every so often they come into the room. But none of the suspicious thumbs-ups he receives were about to deter Jean from how enthusiastic Marco was telling him about how he’s adjusting to working at Jean’s old middle school.

Eren’s obnoxious voice, on the other hand, is enough and far too close to ignore. “Jean!”

With a look of annoyance, Jean turns around towards the entrance leading into the hallway and finds Eren, clearly wasted and looking put-off. _He was probably trying to find me for a while_ , Jean thinks.

Eren stumbles into the kitchen, setting his glass of what looks like some kind of fruity cocktail onto the counter before slipping on the tiles and landing in the space between Jean and Marco.

It’s a wakeup call for the both of them as they realize just how far they have to lean back before Eren’s flailing hands collides with either of their faces and they both blush as Eren leans into the counter between them.

Eren stands up on wobbily legs but he finds his head after a few seconds and turns towards Jean. He’s not yet to the point of drunk but Jean notices that Eren is tipsy enough to have to blink a couple times to make sure he’s looking straight at the right Jean. “Where the heck were you?! Reiner wants to do that dance battle thing. We gotta do the stupid moves he did at the office party!”

Jean leans away from the alcohol-laced breath. He remembers perfectly well Reiner’s attempts to lure the girls away from the other guy’s at the party. He was doing the lot of them a great service. It was just unfortunate the guy had little to no technique and he’d obviously done a bit of research and planted the song to get the party going.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a horrible idea,” Jean says. He glances at Marco who’s smiling with hands hovering over Eren’s sides to keep him from toppling over. “Besides what if he decides he’s going to use that song again. I’m not about to go out there and look stupid.”

Eren clicks his tongue. “Oh please. We already think you’re stupid. But I’m here trying to tell you the trick to becoming the cool type of stupid. All it’ll take is this one dance. Reiner said after the staff party that he was already over that song and he was never going to do that again so this is a perfect chance to win. He’s gonna be so embarrassed I can taste the victory on the tip of my tongue.”

“Your shitty, competitive personality is showing, Jaeger. And you sure that isn’t the taste of Reiner’s ass that you’re trying to kiss up to that you’re tasting?” Jean smirks at the affronted look on Eren’s face and he hears Marco chuckle to his side.

“The guy owes me money. Fight me.” Eren grabs a hold of the sleeve of Jean’s hoodie and pulls him out of the barstool. “Let’s go! Marco you need to come watch this too!!”

Jean sends a confused look back over his shoulder at Marco who’s already rising out of his seat to follow the pair of them into the living room. The music’s already playing at such a high volume that Jean questions how he hadn’t noticed but first he needed to figure out how the hell Eren knew Marco.

Jean pulls back on Eren’s grip, making the other boy stumble back into his chest. “Dude, wait. You already know Marco?”

“Like everyone here knows Marco. We all went to school at Trost so obviously we met each other at some point. Not all of us went away for five years, Jean.”

Jean nods his head and gets push in return from where Eren’s looking up at him. “Anyway forget that for now. You remember the moves right?”

Jean groans and shoots a glance around to find Marco squished onto the couch between Sasha and Armin. He’d left his drink back in the kitchen with Jean’s and he’s currently laughing about something with the blond at his side. “Yeah I know it.”

“Perfect! Time to impress your freckled little man.”

Before Jean can refute the comment, Eren’s already lost in the crowd probably making his way to where Berthold had set up the tiny rented sound system.

The sounds of the elevator music cuts into the pop music that had been playing. Everyone seems to jolt at the sound and in the crowd Jean finds the people he’s looking for. Eren’s already moving around and a hush runs through the room until a loud cheer erupts and everyone encircles the shorter man. Jean chuckles to himself especially when he spots Reiner in the circle staring stupidly at Eren. His expression confused and a little bit angry at the way everyone sways along to the beat watching Eren dance to Hotline Bling.

Eren catches Jean’s eye and he pushes himself through the lines of people around them. He wonders when the hell the “small get-together” had turned so massive but he lets it slide as Eren grabs onto Jean’s wrist and he start to copy the stupid dance moves. They catch each other’s eyes along with Reiner’s every so often but the crowd doesn’t seem to mind when the two burst into a fit of laughter every time they see Reiner pouting off to the side.

The song soon shifts into something more Reiner’s tempo and as everyone shifts over to watch buff, long arms flail about, Jean slips away from Eren’s side towards the couch pushed towards the wall by the kitchen.

He finds Marco sitting there with a new drink in hand. “What? Didn’t wanna watch Eren make me look like an idiot?”

Marco chuckles – his hand moving up to cover his mouth. “Oh, no. I watched you guys. I’m surprised you know that much of the music video.”

Jean shrugs, “It happens when you’re friends with Jaeger.”

“Hm,” Marco nods. He sips at his drink and watching him makes Jean thirsty as well but he pushes the double meaning beside and listens to the crowd grow louder.

“So we were kind of rudely interrupted,” he says after a while. Marco turns to look at him. “Did you want to continue the conversation?”

He’s fidgeting with his hands on his lap, gaze locked on his knees as Marco’s eyes bore into the side of his face.

“Did you want to go back to the kitchen?” Marco asks.

Jean looks up into Marco’s face. There’s something behind those eyes that’s telling Jean he’d rather run away into the forests with him but instead he shrugs his shoulders. He looks away for a second, mind racing, before locking eyes with Marco again. “We could probably go upstairs. Connie usually hides the chocolates up there and I always know where he puts them.”

Marco smiles. He downs the little liquor he has left in his cup before sliding it onto the end table next to him. He pushes off of his knees to stand up and offers a hand down to Jean. “That sounds like the perfect plan.”

Jean leads the way past the pulsating crowd. Eren’s already started the rebuttal to their stupid little dance circle and Jean hears Marco chuckle behind him as they hit the stairs.

They find the spare bedroom with little issues and as Marco settles down to sit on the edge of the bed, Jean makes a beeline for the small walk-in closet across the curtained window.

The night sky shines through the open blinds and Jean can see the light of the full moon through the gaps. He reaches his arms around to slap against the wall until he finds the light switch for the closet and flips it on. The rest of the room remains in darkness, the only light coming from the open door to the hallway, the closet light and the window.

Jean riffles through loose boxes in there until he finds what he’s looking for.

He pulls the boxed chocolates out of the corner where Connie had obviously stuck them. But Jean knew better. Knowing that Connie’s mother was the type of person that always kept a box or four of the delicious delights in the kitchen pantry in-case of visitors.

Connie, ever since they were young, always went about trying to hide them when they came to visit. But Jean had early on found the boy’s secret hiding spot and had kept the discovery hidden from the others.

He brings the box with him to where Marco’s seated, leaving the closet light on in the darkness.

Sliding the lid off, the two of them seem to slide back into their conversation.

Their words stick to the roof of their mouths as they try to chew through the thick caramels and nougats hidden in the chocolates. It feels like Christmas as each piece feels like a surprise and the rouge thought of spending the holidays with Marco brings a smile to his face.

It feels like something different – to spend more time with Marco. Something that he probably wouldn’t’ve even considered a possibility if he hadn’t have shown up tonight.

The outcomes and conversations of tonight being the act of destiny on their lives as Marco leans forward – shielding his eyes with his bangs – as he chooses another piece. He’s close to Jean’s body and his movements feel electric as they hover so close to each other. The hallway outside the door is quiet. Most of the guest have started to make their ways home or have found a sofa or space on the floor to crash on. But the music still plays on and Jean watches Marco take his time in deciding and listens to the soothing sounds of some slow song.

He imagines Eren begging someone into playing it just to drag a sleepy Armin up to his chest to move side to side like a clinky set of legos. Jean smiles, knowing the motions would more than likely just make the blond even sleepier.

As the noises outside the hallway grow dimmer, the setting in the bedroom seems muted.

Words come slower to them and the sudden sugar rush from the chocolates seem to be wearing off. Jean’s eyes become droopy and heavy as the hours pass by. He doesn’t know what the hour is when he feels himself slip into a calm sleep – the sounds of Marco breathing next to him fading into the night.

Jean’s mind works in overtime through the night. Images that barely make sense of sceneries Jean’s never seen in person filter through his mind’s eye. The scenes seem so familiar yet so far away.

But one thing that remains is as the night sky slides into the atmosphere, Jean can pinpoint the constellations like the back of his hand. His arms tracing the lights – creating images and words.

He feels warm.

And that warmth follows through when he feels himself waking up. The glare of the rising run streaming through the blinds and hitting Jean’s face.

The warmth – he finds – is the body laid next to him. Marco stirs quietly in his sleep and in his sleep daze, Jean slides over the sheets to face the other boy.

Tones of pinks of purples cover them through the morning sky as Jean watches the way Marco smiles in his sleep.

The experience feels familiar. Like he’s been in this position before watching Marco in the early morning attempting to wake up from a late night. He doesn’t realized he’s talking until he watches Marco blink the sleep out of his eyes to stare up at Jean with confused eyes. “I missed you.”

They stare at each other. Questions must flitter through Marco’s mind but the way he looks fine with the off-handed comment and sends Jean a small smile that hides the freckles lined under his eyes says differently. Marco scoots forward – pressing his face into Jean’s chest.

Jean hears him inhale and he blushes as he mirrors the act into Marco’s hair. He smells like cheap alcohol and shampoo.

Marco’s lips move against Jean’s chest and he jolts at the feeling at first but presses back into the bed as Marco’s arms look over his waist.

“I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...way to make the end kinda creepy Archana. I hope you liked your gift! The prompt really helped me out of this jeanmarco grave I'd been buried in so it was seriously perfect. Hope you have a wonderful holidays and you keep making that wonderful art of yours. Your blog is seriously the best and I'm glad that we ended up having so many similar fandoms. 
> 
> Reference of [Jean's dancing](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/post/135133967965/bismuthsnowflakes-the-only-dance-jean-is) and inspiration for it by [Nick](http://onikasmirage.tumblr.com/) aka acemockingjay
> 
> Love,  
> [Mamaarachne](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Reference of [Jean's dancing](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/post/135133967965/bismuthsnowflakes-the-only-dance-jean-is)
> 
>  
> 
> [mamaarachne](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/)


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